Running in Circles
by antomato
Summary: Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard. Running in circles, chasing tails, coming back as we are. Oh, take me back to the start. Uk/Spain
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is basically a fic idea I've been working on for a while now. It's a chapter story and I'm not sure how much I'll update it or how keen I am on finishing it. Anyway, I got the idea from a song and I'll try to keep this one going because I like the idea!**  
**Anyway, it's got loose history basis and what not.**

**I really didn't like how this chapter came out but I'll deal with it.**

**Also, all of my history notes will be at the end of this!**

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Rain is a beautiful thing, and misunderstood thing. It cleans the Earth of her pain and death, it brings the new life it's necessity, it let's know it's alright to be weak for a little while because the sun will come again. A child needs both sun and rain to grow, and we all know one cannot live without a little sorrow. And sometimes, it's just rain, nothing more. Wet drops of cold liquid soaking the pavements and fleeting down thin shoots of grass while blurring clear imagery. As the drops fell down, they began to patter against the overhead plastic of the old umbrella Arthur carried above his head while his free hand held a briefcase. It usual, for it to Rain anyway, and Arthur had a soft endearment for the weather- it was cool and refreshing, the air always smelling fresh and clean as it were newly born and he was a child in the thick woodlands again.

It was a lovely day, really, and The Briton found himself walking towards the infamous Buckingham Palace, residence of his beloved Queen and her Royal Family. It was quite a walk but Arthur was more than use to the journey of going to visit his royals or simply visiting the old palace in private- it was beautiful, truly. The white walls raising above his head and seeming to reach towards the heavens as the blonde haired gentleman drew closer to it's tall, black ironed gates that curved elegantly together and met one another, though it's tall structure could be considered intimidating to Arthur it was like he was coming home once again. Slowly, the gold and black gates were swerved open and the Englishman gave a short nod of gratitude to the men and he took a hearty step inward and kept his formal gate while the iron bars met once again and he was looking up towards the steps of the large castle.

Soon he entered through another set of doors, and just as the exterior had been a soft and noble beauty, the interior grew into bright splashes of color. It was if all of the artists of their prime suddenly pressed their brushes against the canvas, each brush holding a new tone and a new paint, and Arthur's eyes took in the sight loving a weak smile spread over his lips and his stride slowed a slower, gentler pace. His bright green eyes were soaking in the details of the tapestry and decorations, and oh it was so beautiful each time he stepped into those doors- it was like he was back in those days again where the Kings of war and peace sat in the thrones and Knights carried the poor men and love was game once again. Not everything of those years of his life was beloved, but they were never regretted, for without them he would not be the nation of England and he would not be Arthur Kirkland. The blonde haired gentleman's pace had slowed while his green orbs lingered on detail of the architecture. As his eyes wandered, so did the Brit's feet and the facade of his attitude began to melt and drip away, leaving behind a solemn, almost wanton and dream-like expression as pale fingers slid forward and traced the curving spiral of a large, crimson colored arm chair. The hand moved upward, running along the decorative wallpaper to the white painted door frame of another high reaching doorway.

Everything in the room was beautiful and detailed, the works of builders and artisans. The work of the royal rooms were always amazing and breath taking and of course, in the gentleman's youth he over looked these fine details but now his old hands appreciated them and his green eyes took delight in seeing the beautiful architecture. Most buildings weren't like that nowadays, now it was about faster and quicker and simpler, no one seemed to take liking to how beautifully time could carve a piece of wood or how time could move a paintbrush to create our most wanted dreams and the most painful tragedies. Oh, but Arthur did. He had favored literature much more in his days, but literature was a work of art just printed black and pressed into words- but it's most key element was the imagination. He loved to have his wildest dreams to be taunted, to explore them, to see things he'd never seen only in his head. It was a pleasure of ecstasy confined to words.

A soft sigh escaped the blonde's thin lips as his head dropped and the lids of his eyes closed to leave him in a solemn, dark silence except for the occasional patter of footsteps above or in a few rooms over. The soft skin of his fingers slowly ran over the frame of the doorway and fell to the side of his thigh, and for a moment the Briton seemed to be frozen while his mind ran on with it's thoughts- or perhaps it was stuck in the moment as well? Who knows, Arthur wasn't the easiest person to understand. Several long minutes ticked past in the silence and the Englishman's feet took a step and he emerged into a tall room with high ceiling and paintings and he found himself surrounded by colors. But it was short lived, the tall elegant walls began to change and fade with each blink of his eyelids.

The room seemed to have wall made of hard, thick stone bricks and the air grew warm and Arthur could feel how happy the atmosphere was. It was childlike and felt rather silly, and with the changing visions a soft trickle of merry music met his eardrums. The volume grew louder and soon the strumming of stringing and singing were clearly heard in the tall stone room. The blonde's eyes widened slightly at the new, almost forgotten vision of the medieval castle walls and the cheery smiles of the menstrual around a slightly bearded King. His hair was curled and seemed to be held in tight rolls around his face, but a beard was across his skin and the hair was a dark, deep chocolate color. It took Arthur several long minutes, but a soft whisper of a gasp left his lips as he recognized the long gone monarch. It had been years since he'd seen the man, but he remembered his general kind nature fondly and the blonde found himself with a smile growing on his face.

It was Edward the first of England, and this was many years back in his youth- Arthur was but a teenager in these years. As he began to piece together the memories he still held of the scene, bright green eyes studied the faces of the musicians and the King seemed to be sitting somewhat slouched in his seat while they played and entertained him. It was a heart warming scene that has not surfaced in the Briton's thoughts for years, and he found himself with a wide grin plastered over his pale face as he watched the musicians pick at their instruments and try to get muster the royal man's mood into a pleasant one. He seemed to be rather annoyed, or bored would be a better word, with his cheek resting against the fist that was supported by the arm of a high sitting chair, his brows furrowed into a frown. Edward seemed very upset that his dearly beloved Queen, Eleanor, was not accompanied with him as she usually was- even coming with him when he ventured to war, she was always by his side and the pair of them were a marvelously happy couple. Which was exceedingly strange for that day and age- Edward and Eleanor's marriage had been arranged when they were quite young to settle a dispute over a plot of territory, but the two of them grew up to becoming a loving couple, smiling and laughing together like a pair of sweet love birds.

The island nation's feet carried him further into the ballroom, and in it he could see his old King sitting with his stubborn pout while his wife was attending a wedding- and Arthur found himself chuckling at the thought. Longshanks[3*] was never one to enjoy ceremonies, and Lady Eleanor knew this, so she instead hired others to entertain her husband while she attended the wedding. Another ring of laughter joined his own, well, it was two voices that he recognized at once with a jolt, a surprised shock taking over his features, mirroring the face of Edward. The laughter grew louder and footsteps were heard in his head, ringing like stones being dropped onto of smoother ones and echoing in the floor of a caved room, until their patter came nearer and two boys arrived at each arm of the chair. Their faces were young and round, smooth skin, bright eyes and thick shortly cut hair and for a moment, just a brief moment, he couldn't recognize them but then it dawned on him. The pair of boys were himself and Antonio, or better known as Spain, his mouth pulled into a wide grin that showed his teeth as he gently leaned forward and peered at the seemingly bored King, whom quirked his brows upward and returned the curious stare to the young teenaged personification.

On the King's left, a young version of himself stood, straightening his posture and ceasing his laughter to pull his arms behind his back in a very dignified and prestigious manner. Arthur chuckled at the image before him, seeing himself acting in such a degree as to impress his beloved ruler while Antonio's own posture was more of a leering lean, only one of his hands balled behind his back. The young blonde cleared his throat loudly, giving the Spanish nation a nod and a firm stare to tell the other nation to behave properly in the presence of their King. The darker skinned boy let out a small 'oh' under his breath and instantly straitened his posture, holding his chin high and looking forward as he had been taught to do. Edward couldn't help but chuckle and let a smile take over his features as the pair of young nations pulled up a more formal act, though he turned to the blonde haired island once he heard him clear his throat a second time.

"Your highness," he began with a very clear, but gentle tone "Her majesty has sent us to entertain you as well, and I beg your forgiveness for our late arrival." The paler boy's cheeks held a soft pink hue as he vaguely apologized for their tardiness, him and Antonio only knowing what the pair of them had been up to. Of course, that was another memory in itsel, and the elder Arthur that was watching the scene found himself chuckling fondly at the thought.

"Late? You've been absent for quite some time, boys. Been causing mischief, have we?" A small amused smile began to appear on the King's face, a hint of laughter following as he rose in his seat, no longer slouching with his chin in his palm, he sat upright in his seat, though relaxed. "Well, go on. Let's have it then."

The English nation bowed and just as he was straightening back up, his hand was grabbed from his side and he was pulled out into the wide area in between the musicians and the curious royal man before the nations, watching the pair of boys. The Briton spurted under is breath, giving the other boy a harsh frown as he was turned and forced to face the younger version of Antonio. A bright smile was held on his face, making the cold expression the younger of the two held falter and he just sighed and rolled his eyes as the Spaniard tugged on his hands. He was being pulled into some sort of odd circle, a bit of a silly and clumsy jig as the beat of the music began to pick up and soon both young nations were dancing, hand in hand with a laughing King watching them.

A sad, sweet smile was held on Arthur's face as he watched the memory, the imagine was fading soon and out of the corner of his eye he watched as Lady Eleanor came quietly into the room and stood behind her husband, watching the two carefree nations as they danced a very made up jig until noticing her arrival. The rushed back to the high seat, running across the ballroom and leaving nonexistent echoing sounds of their footsteps in the high ceiling. His body began to move as if he were that young boy again, trying to catch up to an imaginary day where he had been a happy boy with a close friend for his company, and his fingers reached forward to grab at their hands, but just as he did so the day dream imagine floated into dust, dissolving from his sight to leave a shocked Englishman behind who had become caught up in the vision. His eyebrows sunk and his half-hearted smile disappeared, a feeling of wishful thinking and longing taking over his body as he lingered on the almost forgotten memory. He stood their quietly, staring into nothing while his thoughts were preoccupied with the old carefree smiles, that silly little dance that Antonio had forced him into, the laughter, and the love that had surrounded him at that point in his life with Eleanor and Edward.

"I wonder.. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to see him again... "

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**A/N:** This is loosely based on the the marriage on Eleanor of Castile and Edward I of England. Edward didn't like attending very many ceremonies like weddings and such, and there is a point in history where it was documented that Eleanor had hired musicians to entertain him. Their marriage was in the mid and late 1200s, and since it was an arranged marriage during the medieval period, it was unusual for it marriages like these to go well on personal levels. Eleanor and Edward were very loving toward one another, and it was said that their relationship was even very humorous and laid back.

**[*1]** The reasoning behind their arranged marriage was to solve a fear of invasion. The Spanish royals had interest in the territory of Gascony in the South of France and to stop this, the marriage of the Eleanor (age 13) and Edward (age 14) was planned. They were married November first, 1254.

**[*2]**"Longshanks" was a nickname given to Edward during his time as King. During this time period, he stood at a height of 6' 2" which was extremely tall for a man at that time, thus the nickname.

Another fun fact I want to mention is Eleanor name. Her original Castalian name was Leonor, though in Old English there were two variations of her name: Alienor and Alianor. "Eleanor" is her name in modern day English, and to prevent confusion, it's what I wrote her name as.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: slow update! wow sorry **  
**i've been busy as heck lately and i've got a lot of schooling going on and some personal problems **  
**anyway the historical notes are down below! i hope you guys enjoy it c: **  
**and reviews and what not are always enjoyed u v u**

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Antonio was on his way home, a weak breeze rolling through the warm air and making his curly hair shift and ruffle ever so lightly in the weak wind. His arms held a two or three grocery bags, thick auburn colored paper sacks that were stuffed with sweet fruits, bread, and spices all mixed into his bags. He was walking home down a long street lined with many colorful building and beautiful architecture that was custom to his homeland. A light smile was printed over his features, watching and letting his eyes wonder to see a group of children shouting and calling to one another in dulled voices so the Spaniard could not hear them clearly. He watched and saw that they were kicking a thick black and white ball back and forth in between two netted goals and the Iberian nation found himself staring fondly at the site.

He remembered learning about that wonderful sport he had become so passionately enthralled with. Excited, the Spanish people had grown to developed a reputation for being being brilliant players at the sport. It was all thanks to the development of the country and the growing tourism and rise in trade with the British Isles. He still remembered watching the first game, seeing the British miners and engineers grinning as they taught it to the Spanish locals. Of course, he had his own found memories of it.

_Arthur Arthur, please!_

_Antonio, no. I told you, I have work to do._

_But Arthur! You are almost done, please! I want to learn more about that game!_

_The pair of them were being what they were, one of them pestering the other. Antonio had become fascinated with the sport he d seen the Brits playing when they stopped on Saturday mornings to play. Arthur of course, was being his usual stubborn self and didn t wish to play _***[1]**_ "un juego de pelota" with Antonio. The Spaniard huffed, letting his head rest itself on the blond s shoulder as he began to curiously skim the printed words on the pages of the book, though he knew that reading over Arthur s shoulder was something that bugged him horribly._

_Oh for goodness sake If you want to play to badly, go ask to join one of the men s teams! I m sure they will let you play. The island nation frowned and pulled his book close, sending an annoyed glare to the Spanish man and trying to ignore his obvious attempt at begging him to play what the people had named The English game ._

_Antonio sighed and shook his head, turning to see the men starting to play and kick and jump as the civilians of the Bilbao port gather to watch in their curiosity. But Arthur! They are already playing! And besides, I want you to teach me. Please, just one game! he pleaded, managing to tug the book from Arthur s fingers and send a bright smile up in his direction._

_A groan from the Brit followed, rubbing his temples with his forefingers as he finally pulled them down and folded them over his chest, his lips pursed and brows furrowed as he stared down at the Spanish nation. Do you really, really want to play? he asked, an immediate nod following his question with any hesitation. You re so bloody needy. he finally murmured, taking his book back from the other country personification and tucking the item into his pockets as he stood up and ushered for the tanner man to follow. Come on then, let s change into something comfortable and we ll have a go. But only for a bit, I have work to do._

Antonio found himself grinning fondly at the memory, chuckling as he remembered the many times he had persuaded the Englishman to play a game with him. And a slight longing took hold of him and the man found himself longing for those carefree Saturdays when watching ***[2]**the miners on the Riotinto mines running back and forth with the leather ball. He could even recall the exciting morning in ***[3]**May (May 4th, to be exact) in Lamiaco when the Spaniards challenged a group of English sailors nicknamed the Robinsones to a game. Oh, it was such a great memory, and exciting one even if the home team had lost the match.

The Spanish nation was almost home now, lost in his nostalgic thoughts as he welcomed himself inside his home and unloaded his groceries in the kitchen. His hands were moving in a robotic motion then, putting away the items while Antonio continued thinking of the afternoons he spent with Arthur and casually kicking a leather ball too and fro. They were nice memories. They were not sweet nor sad, they were just nice. Casual times he had spent with the Anglo nation that held weak smiles and laughter along with teasing taunts. The many thoughts brought a sad smile onto the Spaniard s lips, sighing as he slowly let his hands rest on the table.

Oh, how silly he had become over the years. Nostalgic and running from everything. He longed for those same simple times with Arthur, but they were impossible. They were rare in their history. Until the last century or two the pair of them had not truly known one another. Sure, they met from time to time and in their time of empire nationhood they had exchanged bitter words. But they had not known each other the way lovers ought to. Hell, it was hard to even call them lovers. They were too loose, they bickered so much, and they only had fleeting moments with one another that drove their senses wild. Antonio longed for the moments to become plenty in his head, and his eyes began to loom over to the phone that sat on his counter and his teeth began to gnaw on the soft flesh of his cheek.

Another thing that was horribly difficult for the two of them was that they were proud men. They would not admit defeat until one of them could no longer stand it. They could not stand the teasing glances, the soft touches, the old and rare memories of simple happiness that were gently spent. The peninsular nation felt himself wanting to call to Arthur, to ask for his company, to submit to the damned game they seemed to play. But he felt that he could not. His eyes bore into the electronic device while he began to slide into his seat and let a finger tap against the wooden top of his kitchen table. Quietly, a sigh escaped him and he shook his head, deciding to let himself slip into the want for the man that he called a lover. Perhaps, these games, the silly chases of hide and seek that they spent their history playing, the circles they ran in, perhaps it was time to put a stop them.

Perhaps he ought to call Arthur, ask to come over for dinner, to ask for another game of football. Or maybe, just to hear his voice. In any case, he missed his silly little island. His silly little rainy island, that s who he wanted and that was what he wanted.

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The entire chapter is based on how the British (mostly Englishman) taught football to the Spanish in the 1870s.

***[1]:** Un juego de pelota was what the Spanish called football at the time. It didn t enter the Spanish language as f tbol until later on.

***[2]:** There were small villages in Spain that were around the Riotinto mines. On Saturday mornings, the engineers would encourage the British miners to play football in a field and to create two teams.

***[3]:** May 4th, 1894 was the first real game in Spain. It was in Lamiaco and the game consisted of a home team of Spaniard that challenged a group of English sailors nicknamed Robinsones . The Robinsones were nicknamed after Daniel Defoe s famous castaway Robinso n Crusoe. The game was lost by the home team with a score of five to six, but it obviously didn t dim the Spanish passion for the game.


End file.
